


your shape takes form in my lungs

by eratedgore



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Choking, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 05:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eratedgore/pseuds/eratedgore
Summary: Idiots can't catch colds, but they can catch feelings. Vane finds out firsthand that one is a whole lot worse than the other when his unrequited love threatens to kill him. If he wasn't an idiot in the first place, maybe he could figure out a way to fix all this.
Relationships: Lancelot/Vane (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	your shape takes form in my lungs

Flowers were coming out of his mouth.

Vane once told Siegfried about the language of flowers, how a bouquet of roses could express one’s love, or how lilies were reserved for funerals. He didn’t recognize the blue petals scattered across his hands and bedsheets, but he didn’t have to know the symbolism others would see in them when he immediately knew their meaning for himself. Vane’s eyes went wide as he grasped at his throat, feeling another cough blooming in his lungs.

His first thought was “who could it be?” but when Vane saw Lancelot’s gallant figure on the castle grounds later that day, and something finally clicked and he _ recognized  _ the way his heart swelled and his lungs burned, he wanted to laugh. Who  _ else  _ could it be? He  _ tried  _ to laugh, he could always make others feel better with a laugh and smile after all, maybe he could just make himself feel better too, but ran away at the first tickle in his throat. It could be dealt with later, he told himself. He was the vice captain of the order; Vane had bigger things to worry about than a couple of petals. He would go about his life, and take a break in his office if he needed to hack out a couple of flowers.

* * *

Days passed. As bad as he was at keeping secrets usually, Vane managed to keep things under wraps. The need to cough was passed off as the nasty vestiges of a cold, and his avoidance of Lancelot was due to the piles and piles of work he had (had already finished, miraculously, but nobody needed to know that). 

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all this work, Vane…” Lancelot’s eyes swept across Vane’s desk, landing on some papers Vane had strategically shuffled to make it seem like he wasn’t finished with them. “Especially when you aren’t feeling well.” He gave Vane a sympathetic look.

“Don’t worry about it, Lancey! This is part of the vice captain’s job after all.” Vane tried to puff out his chest with pride, because he was always amazed at even  _ being  _ vice captain in the first place. Lancelot simply smiled and wished him luck, and Vane smiled back as his chest heaved and his lungs screamed. Watching his back as Lancelot left his office, Vane had never wanted Lancelot to love him so badly. He thought of Lancelot’s beautiful eyes. The beautiful sound of his laughter, the way he smiled. The way he led his men, the way he was gentle and kind. Vane had never felt the need for air more. 

The petals seemed to get bigger, as though blooming in the spring of his chest. They were fragrant, he realized, not in a way that one would expect flowers that came from their insides to be. It was a pleasant scent, unbecoming of the death it signaled. Inspecting them alone in his room, Vane finally identified the beautiful, awful harbingers. Their deep iridescent blue made them quite desirable, picked and plucked to be put in vases or adorn a sweetheart’s hair. They had probably already all died out this late in the summer, but they would grow in batches in the woods behind Vane’s house in the spring months. Lancelot’s mother adored them. Their meaning? For Vane, death.

Vane clutched at his hair, and cried long into the night.

He wanted to talk to someone about it. Vane wanted someone to  _ help him _ — refusing to talk to Lancelot made him feel so alone. Of course, he knew he wasn’t completely alone. He had friends in the order, and there was the crew of the GrandCypher. If he wanted to, he could go to them, but this was a… difficult subject. If Vane couldn’t talk to Lancelot, the person he was closest to, how in the world was he supposed to tell others? How could he say that his love for Lancelot, and the disease’s cruel implication that Lancelot simply  _ didn’t feel the same way _ , was killing him?  _ Hi Lancelot, oh I’m fine, I’ve just been coughing my heart out because there are flowers growing in my lungs because you don’t love me. I’m dying, Lancelot. I’m going to die. Because of you. How are you doing? _

* * *

Weeks passed. Training was becoming a problem. Exercises and regimens that Vane  _ knew _ he could do were suddenly becoming greater and greater trials as Vane struggled to breathe. Knights would watch in worry as their ever dependable vice captain had to stick to the sidelines instead of throwing himself in with them with gusto. Vane waved their concerns off, saying everyone had their off days, and this just showed them to take care of themselves. But his off days were becoming off weeks, and it didn’t seem like he was going to get better any time soon. Vane was starting to wonder if his brain was losing it too. He was seeing the blue color of the flowers in everything; it seemed like it was everywhere. Perhaps it was just his mind looking out for the color more than it used to, but Vane would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little unnerved. 

“Are you listening, Vane?” Lancelot asked with a quirked eyebrow and small smile on his face. Vane’s gaze flicked up.

“Huh? Uh, of course!” As Lancelot started back up about the patrols he was assigning, Vane’s eyes drifted back to Lancelot’s fine, polished, deep blue armor.

He had gone into town to find a doctor, not one that was already provided for the knights of Feendrache. He loved the knights with all his heart, but they weren’t exactly the most tight lipped bunch.

“It’s none of my business, I suppose,” she said, “but I would recommend that you just confess. It helps most patients almost immediately.” Maybe it was her business. She had a duty to help her patients after all. Vane didn’t particularly want to hear this piece of advice, though.

“But, the disease happens because the other person doesn’t love you back,” Vane argued. “What’s the point?”

“It happens mainly because you perceive, however correctly or not, that the other party doesn’t reciprocate your feelings. Confessing may help them realize they actually do feel the same, and help cure you.” She paused, then sighed, setting her clipboard down. “However, if that doesn’t work, or you really just can’t do it, then… we do have operation as an option. Some say there are other things you can do, but operation is the only other legitimate choice. Your case seems to be progressing rather slowly. Unless you deal with it beforehand, it could be a few months before you need to have it removed from your lungs. But... I assume you know the consequences if it gets that far?”

Her words echoed in his mind on the walk back to his quarters in the castle. Passing by those he knew on the streets of the capital, he tried to give them a grin, but it felt like his entire body was weighed down. Removing it would stop the disease from killing you, but you wouldn’t be able to have romantic feelings for the one you loved ever again. Sometimes, it meant never being able to love romantically again. Vane believed with all his heart that being unable to feel romantic love was  _ not _ the end of the world. It wouldn’t magically change who he was as a person, and he would still be able to care about others. It wouldn’t make him wrong in any way. It would most certainly be better than dying.

The flowers and roots were growing, making their home in his chest, surely but slowly. Vane had the time he needed to think about what he would do. He thought, and considered, and wracked his brain, and after what seemed like a long time, 

He still didn’t come up with an answer.

Vane had always known he was rather stupid.

* * *

“Quiet, quiet, quiet,” he quickly hushed Arthur, two months after, kneeling down besides him on the floor of his office. Arthur clasped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide. Vane tried to smile reassuringly. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“V-Vice Captain Vane,” Arthur whimpered from behind his hands. “I, I just wanted to check in, since you haven’t been going with us to training, and, and…” He was breathing hard, beginning to panic. Vane set his hands on Arthur’s shoulders.

“Arthur.” Vane’s voice was low as he put on his best vice captain persona. “It’s okay. Take your time, and breathe.” Swell advice coming from himself, he thought briefly, but kept all of his attention on Arthur as he tried to calm himself down. Finally, Arthur asked in a trembling voice,

“What… what’s happening to you?” He stared at the blue flowers as though they were going to grow teeth and snap at him. Vane let out a deep breath. The laugh he tried to make came out with a wheezing noise.

“It’s… nothing. It’s alright. I have it under control.” He tasted a bitter leaf stuck on the bottom of a molar. Tears started to form in Arthur’s eyes. “Don’t worry, Arthur,” Vane said quietly. “Believe in me.”

“And…” Arthur swallowed thickly. “And Captain Lancelot knows about this?” Vane felt his face freeze for half a second, and he struggled to smile.

“Of course he does. We’re working on it, so, please, don’t go around worrying others about this.” His voice sounded unconvincing, even to himself, but Arthur nodded anyway. Vane helped him stand up and get to the doorway. Arthur paused as he let himself out.

“Vice Captain, does it hurt?” Vane’s eyes widened, then he laughed, yet again, a rotten wet noise.

“No way, not at all! I’m stronger than that, don’t you know?” Finally, slowly, however unsurely, Arthur smiled back.

Arthur was a child, not stupid. Who was Vane trying to fool? Sure it hurt. Of course it was going to. Unrequited love hurt, even without it bringing a life threatening disease. His throat was constantly raw, the dry air of the fall season did nothing to help, and his chest ached like it had caved in. Vane lied in his bed alone at night, wondering if it could be different. If Lancelot could feel the same way. Vane wanted to be loved so badly. He had no idea of when his feelings for Lancelot had changed from platonic to romantic, when he had realized he wanted to be held and kissed and treasured. Sometimes, when he was on the brink of finally falling asleep, he remembered when they were just knights in training. Once in a while, they would be allowed to rest before sunset, when the sunlight filtered in golden through the trees. 

_ Lancelot rested his head in Vane’s lap, and Vane ran his hands through Lancelot’s hair.  _

_ “Lancey, your hair is so soft,” he said, just like every time they were together like this, sometimes said brightly and followed with a laugh, sometimes in a quiet murmur. Vane smoothed Lancelot’s bangs out of his eyes. Slowly taking Lancelot’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together, Vane said, “Soon, we’ll be knights together, Lancey. We’ll be out there fighting side by side.” Lancelot smiled gently back up at him, and squeezed his hand back. _

_ “Of course. You and me, no matter what may come.” _

Tears spilled forth. Vane hated crying. It made breathing even harder. But, it was easy to miss when things were so much simpler, when Vane had absolutely no idea he loved Lancelot.

Once, Lancelot had said that Vane was a person of love, a person that was greatly loved by all. Vane was so pleased, so honored he had been thought of in that way, but some small part of him wondered if Lancelot was part of those that loved Vane as well.

Apparently not.

It was a miracle that Lancelot was even friends with Vane in the first place. Wonderful, beautiful Lancelot, who was always so friendly and patient with stupid, crybaby Vane. It made all too much sense that Vane fell him love with him. There probably never was a time when Vane wasn’t in love with Lancelot, and there probably would never be a time where Lancelot would be in love with Vane. He was sure Lancelot would become enamoured with someone much more suited for him, someone just as graceful, and magnificent, and talented as Lancelot was, and they would get married and be happy, and Vane would be—

...Somewhere, out there? Best man at the wedding, hopefully?

Vane had been trying to sleep on his side when he could. He was not going to choke on a bunch of stupid petals in the middle of the night. Some stubborn part of him said to make the damn flowers into tea, because damn everything else, he was not going to let this love kill him.

* * *

And then, finally, the deep blue flowers that Vane managed to cough out were stained with red. Vane sunk to his knees at the sight of the dark spots, putting his head in his hands. It snowed in Feendrache every year, but suddenly, the winter had never felt so cold. The doctor stared at him with a sad look in her eyes.

“You didn’t tell them.” Vane stared at his feet.

“...No.” He never really intended to tell Lancelot. What was the point? Lancelot was the only family Vane had left, and he was not about to ruin that one last bond. If Vane told Lancelot he loved him, and Lancelot didn’t love him back (which he didn’t, they wouldn’t be in this predicament if Lancelot loved him back), Lancelot could actually just end their friendship. Would he? Considering Lancelot’s personality, it seemed unlikely, but what if Vane’s confession just broke something vital? Put just enough distance between them for a childhood friendship to fall apart? Vane didn’t  _ want _ to die, but the deep dark corner in the back of his mind might prefer it over being totally alone in the world. The doctor scheduled him an appointment in a week, and Vane slowly trudged back to the castle, despite the heaviness in his heart. There was work he had to do, after all. There were so many more things he had to do. He couldn’t die.

Alone, he collapsed to the floor, doubled over in pain. The small trash bin with the rest of whatever he coughed up felt like it was miles away. Roots dug into his lungs, and flowers stuck in the mucus of his airway. Needing air more desperately than he had ever needed anything, Vane coughed, and coughed, and coughed. No matter how much his eyes watered, or how badly his throat screamed for relief, no matter how many flowers he hacked out, the pain didn’t stop.

The doctor had said the only two cures were having your feelings returned, or having an operation, the roots and flowers removed. However, Vane had heard that if you could just stop loving them, it would stop. It was only a rumor, as far as he knew, but maybe giving up your love could help you move on. Help you heal. Maybe it would all stop if Vane could stop loving Lancelot.

As if that would happen. No matter how bad the pain was, he doubted he could ever stop loving Lancelot.

The door hit the wall with a bang, flung open with the force of a hurricane.

“Vane?!” Vane groaned at the sudden sound of Lancelot’s voice. For once in his life, it was almost unwelcome. Almost. Turning his head to look up, Vane saw that Lancelot was already kneeling at his side, his face full of worry. He had probably heard Vane from down the hall. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Lancelot kept his voice down, despite how betrayed and hurt he sounded. Vane coughed, a bitter taste in his mouth. Well, what did Lancelot know about hurt? Vane had two lungs full of flowers.

“Who…?” Vane’s voice was raw. He could barely speak above a whisper.

“Arthur told me that you had  _ already _ told me about,” Lancelot’s face twisted with anguish, and he waved a hand broadly, vaguely at the bloodstained flowers all over the ground. “He said you already told me about all of this. How long has it been since this started? Why didn’t you say anything?” Vane stared into Lancelot’s eyes, losing himself in a deep iridescent blue that he had started to hate.

What was he supposed to say? Was there a way to tell Lancelot what was going on without actually explaining anything? Without telling Lancelot that he was killing Vane? 

“I don’t want to see you like this. Please, Vane,” Lancelot begged, resting his head against Vane’s shoulder, hiding his face from view. Vane began to cough again. “Please tell me how I can help you.” The sorrowful sound of Lancelot’s voice made Vane want to cry. Was there a way to ask for his help without asking Lancelot to just love him back? “Vane, I…” He continued to say something in that soft broken voice, but all Vane heard was, “I don’t love you, I don’t love you, I don’t love you.”

Vane clutched at his neck. He couldn’t breathe. Vane choked on Lancelot’s very words, the warmth of Lancelot’s hand on his back, the look in his eyes. Lancelot couldn’t help Vane. His hands were wrapped around Vane’s throat, and with every second that passed, he squeezed a little harder, watching the way Vane’s eyes rolled into his head and his face turned blue.

He didn’t want Lancelot to worry about this. He didn’t want to have to worry about this himself, either. Vane was so tired of worrying, and so tired of loving, and so he was going to rip it all out. He was going to have the love torn out of him in a white room with sharp tools, take the shards of his shattered heart and cut it out with his own hands if he needed to, and his lungs were going to be clean, and Vane would be able to breathe, whether he wanted to or not.

Vane struggled to focus his eyes, head swimming. The lack of air was getting to him. Stained petals danced in his vision. He was going to die right there, in Lancelot’s arms, watching how tears began to slide down Lancelot’s face. The worst outcome: Lancelot had begun to cry, his pretty face all scrunched up. He looked like he was struggling to say something, lips moving without any sound coming out. Vane knew what that was like; it was just so difficult to say something important, wasn’t it? 

He wanted to laugh. Was it too late to fix any of this? 

Love pooling in his lungs, Vane opened his mouth.

* * *

There was a report he needed to turn in, from last week. Vane took one final look at the papers, carefully written in his best handwriting. He should’ve already dealt with it, but it wasn’t too late to just throw it all away. Opening the door to Lancelot’s office, Vane took a deep breath.

**Author's Note:**

> did he confess? did lancelot feel the same way? did he go to surgery? who knows! i don't  
you know how lancelot always seems so in love with vane? that's because he kins me. i love vane! i love vane so much i never shut up about him. i'm better at writing from lancelot's perspective because i can just talk about how much i love vane through him


End file.
